Blackfoot Forest striding, powerful, into the arms of death

They catch one-another's gaze and the woman flashes her teeth, a brief show that does not dissuade him so much as amuse him, for whatever that is worth. Revui lacks a sense of humor (as well a sense of tact, or any real depth beyond the desires of each gluttonous moment that passes) but somehow he sees her fangs and the twisted scars littering her body and is charmed by them. This woman is a warrior; her skin tells stories without the necessity of words. Revui can appreciate that. He stands firmly in place and heeds her warning but remains alert, trailing his gaze across the network of wounds as if he is reading them.

She asks about a child and the description does not mean much to Revui. He has not seen any children that would match that description, and so far his encounters with the bearberries of Ursus were limited to one autumnal child. However, as he is not the brightest of people, Revui presumes she is speaking of another child born to Astara.

He nods. There are cubs in the valley beyond the meadow, but it is a dangerous place. Not that danger would deter a true warrior, he thinks with satisfaction, watching her.